


And His Name Was Death

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, He Is Literally Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Temporary Character Death, This Is Kind Of A Fix It?, Vasquez Is Death, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: "And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."Death had lived as long as there was life. He was there in the beginning, and he would be there in the end. He was unknowable and inescapable. Death could not be bargained with, or bribed, or tricked. Death could see everything, and he knew everything. None could hide, and running would only amuse him.These days, Death was known as Alejandro Vasquez, outlaw and vaquero. When the gentle, insistent guidance of the Creator leads Death to a new adventure on this mortal plane, Death follows with a grin. On the way to a town called Rose Creek, he meets seven men and a woman, all willing to fight and die for a lost, if noble, cause. A being like Death should know that the past always catches up with you, even if you're an immortal, eldritch entity, but even he is caught off-guard when one of the Seven remembers him from another fake life Death once led.The battle to save Rose Creek looms on the horizon as secrets are revealed, fates are changed, and Death learns what it truly means to be alive.
Relationships: Emma Cullen/Matthew Cullen, Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks, Goodnight Robicheaux/Vasquez, Joshua Faraday/Vasquez, Leni Frankel/Jack Horne, Red Harvest/Teddy Q
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	And His Name Was Death

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovelies! This came to me in a fit of late night inspiration, and here it is! This will be a multi-chapter fic with no set update schedule, so I apologize for that in advance. I'll do my best to update frequently, but as we all know, life is crazy right now! Please be careful out there and please leave a comment to let me know what you think!

He had been there since the Beginning.

To call him old would be to gravely understate his age. He had lived since life was new, for all things that begin must end. Only one being was older than he was, and the Creator rarely meddled in his affairs. He would outlive them all, even the Creator, or so he thought. Darkness was his beginning, and darkness would be his end. All things would find their way into his arms, and he would hold them as gently and dearly as a mother held her newborn babe. Yes, he would outlive them all.

Ironic, isn’t it? That, someday, Death should be the last one left to live?

* * *

Death was not a man by any means, although the creatures that crawled across the Creator’s good earth often thought of him as such. His form was inconceivable to the living, and it amused him to see humanity try to constrain him into a single, knowable shape. A skeleton, a hooded figure, a nobleman, a whispering wind; Death was all these things and more. Sometimes Death walked the world as a man. Sometimes he was a woman, or a child, or a bear, or an owl, or a stream, or a breeze, or a star falling from the sky. Every life that lived, be it animal or plant or human, was destined to end with him standing over their graves. He could feel every life force that existed, and he knew the moment their lights winked out for good. He could feel the sands of time flow through him like the blood inside a mortal’s veins, roaring towards its inevitable end. He could not see the future, but he didn’t need to. Death was everywhere at once, and nowhere at all. No one could find him unless he wanted to be found, and none could hide from him. Many had tried. All had failed. He was implacable, unstoppable. No one could reason with him, or bargain, or change their fate.

_“Oportet rerum omnium finem.”_

All things must end.

To hold Death to human standards and descriptions was akin to judging a fish by its ability to climb a tree: impossible, and an exercise in futility. Death was no man, no matter what his appearance at the time may say, and what he feels and what he knows is beyond mortal ken. That is not to say that Death is incapable of mortal emotions. If anything, Death feels more than any human could ever dream of, and perhaps this is what has made him such a cruel and callous being. Humans feel intensely and passionately, a great fire amidst the darkness, but they can do so only because they have so short a time to live. Death must live until life is dead, and the years were kind to no one. He must feel, always, and he knew there was no escape. Not for him.

* * *

By the time of an almost insignificant conflict known locally as the Battle of Rose Creek, Death had lived for countless eons. He had seen all the joys and ecstasies of existence, and he had seen the horrors and violence that came with them. He knew all. He knew the paths that humanity, for they were truly the rulers of reality now, could charge headfirst down without a second thought. Wars fought for religion, wars fought for one man or woman, wars fought for no reason at all except for virulent hate. Knowledge gained for the sake of knowing, knowledge found in the name of bettering humanity, knowledge lost in the haze of superstition and fear. Love played like a game, and love born in the midst of tragedy. So many paths, so many triumphs and failure.

Yes, Death had seen it all.

As was his wont, Death had spent the last few decades walking among mankind in human form, watching the world through the eyes of those who had shaped it. It was boring, spending your nearly eternal existence simply watching from above, or below, or nearby. Even unknowable beings sometimes wished to feel excitement rushing through their hollow veins. Death donned and threw off his human form like a well-loved cloak, fading in and out of sight and mind as he pleased. He liked alcohol, one of humanity’s better inventions, and he like gambling and riding horses and the theater and sailing the seas and climbing mountains and so, so many other distractions. It quieted the part of his eternal mind that told him that somewhere across the world, a young girl was dying alone of hunger, or an old man was fading away in his sleep surrounded by his sons, or that the deer the innkeeper was stalking would soon fall to its knees from exhaustion. Nothing stopped the knowledge, but it wasn’t quite so loud when Death was feeling pleasantly warm from whiskey and a roaring fire, surrounded by mortals in all stages of life, while a singer belted out her ballad for the skies to hear.

Such small creatures. So insignificant. So tiresome. So wondrous. So bright. So lovely. So irritating. So needy. So generous. So angry. So fragile. So strong. So… _human_.

Death laughed quietly, tossing the empty bottle aside as he vanished from sight once again, leaving the thunderous applause behind as he felt a tug on whatever passed for his soul. Such compulsions were rare, as if the Creator were calling him to where he needed to be, and Death had never found it in himself to refuse. The pull, as Death called it, always led him to a grand adventure, or a pivotal moment in time, or simply to where he needed to be. These impulses had never steered him wrong before, and so Death listened, and Death obeyed.

Which is how Death found himself in Texas, facing down a Ranger with corruption in his soul and a cigar in his teeth, and Death knew what he had to do. He pulled the trigger, becoming Alejandro Vasquez, newly minted outlaw and Death’s latest mortal disguise.

* * *

The corpse was quiet company. The flies, not so much.

Still, Death had little choice, that compulsion from beyond keeping him firmly in place as he waited for whoever was at the end of the string. The Creator surely had something _very_ interesting in mind for Death, to keep him tethered in one place for so long. Death hid just out of sight as two riders came into view, idly guessing at what would soon come to be. The last time he had been pushed in such a way was the time he’d met…Death shivered, pushing the image of a pale, fearful face from his mind. That was the past, and the past cannot be changed.

The time before that was the sinking of the Spanish Armada, and Death had hovered among the clouds as he watched nature itself destroy the fleet as if it were mere driftwood in a lake. Death had felt the power of the rain, the crushing force of the waves, the utter terror of the drowning and the dying, and the sheer relief of the distant English, who were now safe from what should have been the end of their burgeoning empire. Death would be forever grateful to the Creator for pushing him to witness the magnificent destruction. Yes, Death did not _have_ to follow the compulsions, but he always did. The Creator may not rule him, but they certainly knew how to persuade him.

Death was brought back to the present as the riders, a man and a woman, approached his little hideaway, and Death barely kept from cackling in his real voice at how easy it was to lasso the woman. He admired her fighting spirit, making crude jokes and advances towards her to keep his cover as the wicked outlaw, and he let the man think he had persuaded Death into following his mad quest. Death already knew all about Rose Creek, as he knew of all things, the despair caused by the recent violence rolling across the wilds like a scent on the air. Emma Cullen wanted righteousness and revenge, and Sam Chisholm wanted justice…justice that smelled an awful lot like revenge, too. Humans were such proficient liars, even to themselves. There was no justice here, only revenge, or so Death thought. It was of no matter to him. They offered an adventure, and Death was more than ready for it. He accepted, despite the lack of mortal reward.

If Sam Chisholm was half as clever as he liked to believe himself to be, he would have paused at how easily the vaquero accepted his frankly insulting terms.

Alas, hubris was another fault of humanity, and Death was happy to play into it. He let Emma go, eager to leave the corpse behind and be amongst the living once again. His horse seemed ready to leave too, and she easily kept pace with the others as Death followed his new bosses. The other horses seemed to shy away from Death and his steed, which suited Death just fine. Animals were never fooled by him, no matter how hard he tried. There was this innate sense within all of Earth’s “lesser” creatures, that instinct that helped them survive at all costs, that recognized Death even in his most complicated disguises. Humans seemed to have lost that sense of self-preservation, having been too comfortable for too long at the top of the food chain. Death shook his head, laughing at Emma and Sam’s backs. The clues were right in front of them! They were good little Christians, filled with fire and brimstone since birth! He was riding a _pale_ _horse_ , for the love of the Creator! He was surrounded by death and decay! Holy hells, did Death have to make them a goddamn sign?

His quiet snickering remained unheard over the steady pounding of hooves on the dust beneath them. As they left his hideout behind, he felt the pull lessen, and finally dissolve. Death was on the right path; all he had to do was follow it.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated as the fic goes along. The title of this fic is taken from the Bible quote about Death.


End file.
